Knots
by Senri
Summary: If Hidan wanted to, he could pull out a suture and stick his hand right into his partner’s abdominal cavity, cup his hand around the one human organ he knows his partner has left, and feel it flutter. HIDAN/KAKUZU SLASH.


**WARNING: For violence, foul language, slash, Kakuzu, Hidan's mouth.**

* * *

He was born in a different land from this. The convent, with its cells and its swept paths, the air thick and dripping rose scent, the terror of cowed followers and the pleasure of being everyone's favorite, the baby berserker with red velvet eyes and a pure smile. For years this was his world.

The great sages, the mother superior, should have noticed earlier what was true: that a monastery for a faith such as theirs was anathema. Jashin is not a god who invites songs, meditation, white marble. His god is a god of screaming and frantic terror unending. He does not collect his followers in his hand. From their own placidity he does not protect them, either.

When the buildings were torn asunder, their stones thrown into the waters, the bodies of his fellow faithful burned in piles, bones melted with heat, shattered to powder, spread on the ground and smeared with lime, he knew: the wrath of his god had found those who proved unworthy of the faith. The only true believer was the only one who was left, and that was enough.

He left that place fulfilled.

Hidan remembers.

* * *

He falls silent, finished, and distracts himself by digging his nails into his partner's back. The shoulders are broader than Hidan's, and darker, scarred with stitches. Kakuzu's heart, singular at the moment, is beating somewhere nearer the other side of his body. If Hidan wanted to, he could pull out a suture and stick his hand right into his partner's abdominal cavity, work his hand past the bones that Kakuzu maybe doesn't have, maybe feeling soft organs yielding to him or maybe not, and cup his hand around the one human part he's sure Kakuzu has left, and feel it flutter. Maybe his insides would be warm and soft, or maybe they would be cool, the threads rasping like straw, or clammy, like cold spaghetti. Or maybe not. There's a lot Hidan still doesn't know, and anyway, at the moment, he doesn't care. 

Kakuzu's breathing is steady, even, but not deep enough to mark him as sleeping. Hidan props himself up on an elbow and Kakuzu's eyes are open, alert near-glowing slits. What is he thinking about? Probably taking integrals. Hidan snickers.

Kakuzu blinks once, at that, and seems to rise out of whatever torpor had held him. He rolls away from Hidan and sits up carefully. Thick hair falls around his nape. The blinds are down but light sneaks through like a voyeur, and paints him gray. In this ungodly hour he's all grayscale, looks like he's coming apart at the seams and doesn't know it or just doesn't give a fuck.

Hey, whatever, the old dragon can devolve if he wants. Hidan doesn't give a shit. He doesn't want to look anymore either, and rolls onto his back instead, scooting to avoid the wet spot. The stitches lining his abdomen itch and he scratches irritably at the thick line. Threads uncoil a little, a few smaller strands catching under his fingernails. He pulls at them until blood starts to seep.

"Cut it out." Kakuzu hasn't turned around. At close range he is aware of the small missing part of his body, and knows that Hidan is messing with it. "If you pull that out I'm not going to put it back in."

"Oh, like you have so much other stuff to do?" Hidan laughs, and for spite tries to work one finger between the closed edges of his wound. The stitches are really too close for that but Kakuzu has turned around and his real mouth is frowning, the actual part with lips, not just the broad pull of his stitched-up Chelsea grin. The thread coalesces into one tight strand again.

Something across the room unfurls, shakes itself, and shambles across to rejoin its master. The golem walks like a tall, drunk man who doesn't know where his limbs start or stop anymore.

Those things are heavy, Hidan knows from experience. Kakuzu carries it and its siblings around all day like they're nothing. Watching them pour back together, all that loose mass compressing to fit in a passably human torso, is disturbing. It shouldn't work. Something in there should bust open. A nice reminder, that his partner isn't human. Hidan watches Kakuzu loosen the skin between his shoulders so the mask child can step back in, lifting one leg with a stupid daintiness, and then the other. It takes time, fitting the monsters back in, resettling their hearts, more time than letting them out. The ox, the eagle, the lion, the human face. 

It's a vulnerable state. Kakuzu doesn't like to let all four of his spares out at once, but they make good guards when both the Akatsuki are otherwise occupied. He's either ridiculously brave or stupid to turn his back on his S-class criminal partner who sits and watches from five feet away. Hidan's no partner-killer (as of yet) but it's strangely more laxity than he'd expect.

For some minutes afterward Kakuzu just stands, shifting slightly from foot to foot, and the flesh of his back shifting too. Like big worms are moving just under his skin. He's turned and lifted one corner of the blinds, gazing down on the street in a posture almost demure. The false chastity of a kept woman. That image, it makes Hidan show his teeth, and nearly laugh.

"Get up," says Kakuzu, bored and professional, still not looking at him. "Get dressed. We're leaving."

* * *

"Fuck," Hidan says, perilously close to whining. "Fuck, it's early." 

"Shut up," Kakuzu tells him bluntly. "You were awake anyway."

"It's fucking cold out here!"

"Shut up, or I'll cut you up and stash you in a tree."

They walk in file down the path, Kakuzu leading. The grass is bent where his feet have fallen, and still heavy with dew. Hidan's tabi are sopping and his feet are numb chunks of ice. When he says as much to his partner, Kakuzu says, "Relax, next guy we come to you can cut off his feet and I'll swap them."

"Are you fucking_ serious_?"

"No."

Hidan allows himself to pout at Kakuzu's hunched back. "Hey, you know what, I wouldn't want some stinking heathen's unclean feet anyway." He steps forward big, swinging the scythe, and slaps himself hard on the chest when Kakuzu glances over at him. "Because this body is a fucking _temple_."

"A temple to fuck in?"

"Oh, you're so hilarious. That's nasty, grandpa. I mean a temple for_ Jashin_."

Kakuzu picks up his stride. Hidan keeps up with him, even though he's smaller and has to work harder, jostling at Kakuzu's shoulder and worrying him towards the edge of the path.

Kakuzu, who doesn't care when he's being fucked up the ass, takes umbrage at this. He turns fast, snaps out a roundhouse kick; Hidan blocks it with his scythe handle and Kakuzu's shin smashes into tempered steel instead of Hidan's kidneys. Misdirecting a kick like that would floor a regular shinobi. Kakuzu blows it off, he smashes a corner of his briefcase into Hidan's temple before Hidan can block.

"Oh FUCK," and blood trails in bright ribbons, pours down into his right eye and stings like a bitch. Hidan leaps backwards, claps one hand to the gash and pushes hard. Kakuzu stands back, holding the briefcase out still in some combination of threat and defense. He's being remarkably restrained, really.

"Fuck," Hidan spits out again, feeling at where the steel corner impacted his skull. His head feels soft there, caved in a little, and it's hard to think. But his brain is already restructuring itself. That much regeneration he has, to his great dismay… the open wound is just irritating.

He steps towards Kakuzu, holding the scythe down and his bloodied hand lifted in appeal. "Hey, you gotta take care of this – "

"You deserved that," Kakuzu shoots back, turning away. "So no."

"Oh, come on – this is fucking disgusting, I'm all sticky!" He jogs after his partner.

"No."

"It's on my hairline, geezer, my hair's getting fucked –"

"So sorry I ruined your pretty face. _No_." Kakuzu is moving fast now. Hidan presses his hand to his throbbing forehead again and hustles. His scythe bangs his knees. Overhead, the sun slowly burns through the morning mist.

The ANBU catch them at the crest of the next hill.

* * *

The birds are singing again. Hidan closes his eyes, leaves his hands splayed out, soaks the clear sunlight into his skin. Already the warmth is uncomfortable, with his robe soaking it up. It's going to be a hot day. 

Grass is getting in his hair, and bugs. The ground underneath is very cool. He's pretty sure that flies are crawling on his blood-matted hair, and that ants are getting under his shirt but not biting yet. He'd move if he could but he can't, anyway. Not yet.

Blood and bone make a rich meal for the earth. All the nutrients for which the human body is a repository. Organs, the slag in the stomach and intestines, the human tongue. Iron and calcium and water. Blood in his mouth like he's been eating coins.

Did the former companions in his faith feel like this, down on the ground and knowing that their god had deserted them? Not without due cause, though. Jashin had been deserted first, and chosen to spare only one of his acolytes. Where the temples once stretched there must be a garden now, glorious; the roses must have colonized, and the whole place when they bloom must reek of indolence, and the petals must fall like fat drops of blood.

If he doesn't get up sometime the tree roots will find him, the earth will gobble him up. Drink all his juices until something desiccated and wicked and laughing is left. He'll be the new salt of the earth, and the land around him will poison.

Hidan bares his teeth to the sun. All in good time.

Now where is his fucking partner?

A shadow drops over him. Hidan opens his eyes.

The fire golem rears above him, filaments loosened from its main body and lashing in the air. Tasting, like snake's tongues. After a moment the beast drops to all fours. Stretched out it's longer than Hidan is tall, and the strands are so fine they feel wet. Cool like fresh-turned earth. The familiar squirming touched insinuates itself across his torso, digs below the epidermis. After the first spike the pain isn't really bad; just uncanny, that feeling on things being moved around inside him. Like the world changing underfoot. More like a melody of pain, distinct against the low-grade harmony of wounds he's so used to.

Still working, the thing has him tangled up deeper now, like a spider swaddling its prey. The weight is familiar. It drops next to him, half on him, like a friendly dog. The threads are winding deeper now. Hidan is not worried. Strands plug into him, sliding between subcutaneous fat and muscle, and that makes his eyes roll back, liquefies his guts and makes him tremble.

"Is that bothering you?" Kakuzu asks, stepping out of the woods. He's dragging some ANBU brat, unmasked, about Hidan's apparent age.

Hidan twitches, tries to get a grip. He's riddled with holes now, with thread. It pushes back against him. He is subdued.

"That kid still alive?" he manages. Kakuzu glances carelessly at his prisoner, shrugs.

"For now." And drops the boy, kicks him carelessly to move him away. The boy rolls and his face grinds in the dirt, and one leg flops an unnatural way. He's not going anywhere.

Hidan stirs. His interest is piqued. "Hey," he says. "Let go, I'll have a little fun before we have to go."

"I don't think so." Kakuzu walks to him, looks down; when he blocks the sun the darkness is like suddenly being blind. "I didn't bring him here so you could delay us more. Who knows how long it'll be before another squad comes."

"Well, why'd you bring him, then?" Hidan asks irritably. Kakuzu doesn't answer, but the golem starts to release him. Puncture wounds from the tendrils start to seep. It's the ox mask, Hidan realizes. The fire-breather.

It lets half of his left hand go, the hand he doesn't carry the scythe in, and makes him hold it out straight. Hidan doesn't resist. He's not in a good position to try anything. He does wonder what his partner is planning, though.

"Hey…"

"Shut up." The golem centers itself on his chest, peers up at him stupidly, and another one takes it place on his legs. He hadn't seen that one coming. They move like self-sculpting molasses. Kakuzu stands back, looks down at him, unreadable. "You say your fellows were burned?"

"Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?"

The ox opens its jaws, and fire rolls out in spumes.

Theoretically: the golem's fire is based off of liquid and therefore behaves rather like liquid instead of pure flame. The base substance ignites when it touches air. It splashes and eats away at what it lands upon, and it can melt almost any substance with enough build-up. It is not so much a product of chakra as of some esoteric chemical reaction carried out in some fire-pouch somewhere within the body. There is a limited supply, which can be diminished. The pain for the victim is agonizing. Indescribable. Most, when they sustain significant burns from Kakuzu's fire, die shortly afterwards.

If Hidan was thinking as his forearm instantly puffed up into a glove of blisters, he'd be impressed. As a few seconds after that his flesh began to melt and slide off his bones, he would appreciate Kakuzu's foresight with regards to this little experiment: only the forearm, not his weapon hand, with a sample on standby to trade out the arm once the pain was over. As his fingers fused into a slaggy, fleshy mess, as he wept and screamed, he would be moderately disappointed at having to give up such pure agony so abruptly. As he spasmed and cramped and pissed himself he'd be glad that he hadn't eaten heavily in several hours, and therefore was not shitting himself too. As the smell prompted bile and he choked on it, as his immortality-infused flesh sizzled like a slab of bacon, he'd have been praying a paean to Jashin. As the nerves practically evaporated and the pain dwindled then disappeared he'd be thinking the whole experience was interesting, if he'd been able to think.

The ox closes its mouth. The fire cuts off. It is over.

Hidan rolls over, and cups his arm tenderly to his chest. His face and his unburned hand are shortly soaked, with seeping tears, with frantically running body fluids. His heart hammering and the corners of his smile twitching into a grimace of agony, but before moving away to staunch the littler flames, Kakuzu can see that he is smiling.

* * *

He walks with his god in a midnight garden. The air is heavy with rose-smell and his imagination was right: the ground is carpeted with petals, like a deep ocean of blood; roses budding, blooming, withering, rotting on the arbors, all blooms on the same plant. 

Jashin is his height and his width, for now. A smiling man with the pale flicker of madness in his eyes. "Son of mine, carry on," he says. "I am well-pleased with you."

Hidan stays slightly behind, and bows his head. The pendant seems heavy as a millstone around his neck, weighted with meaning and faith. It would be presumptuous to match steps with his god. "Thank you, Lord Jashin."

He is led by Jashin's aimless pacing. The god finds a bench, close to a low half-crumbled wall, and sits. Hidan kneels before him, and Jashin runs thin, strong fingers through his hair. Through half-closed eyes Hidan notes that the wall is smeared with ashes. "What more can I do to please you, my Lord?" he says, and for his forethought it rewarded with the slow burn of Jashin's touch.

"Go about as you have done," his god sighs. "Continue to send me suffering and consecrated sacrifice. Your own and that of others. That is what I desire."

"My Lord," Hidan promises, and is compelled by faith to add, "and if you desire I will find another acolyte for you as well."

Jashin's laugh is a rush of breath like a hospital burning, with all the patients and doctors still trapped inside. "Keep yourself as my one follower for now," he says. "Find another when you desire. I know the one you choose will keep my faith as well as you have."

"My Lord," Hidan says. Jashin's hand in his hair tightens, and Hidan allows his god to force his movement, to force eye contact. Jashin's hair is the pale color of a candle-flame's edge, and his pupils are white against black sclera, dark and cold-humored and burning.

* * *

"And that's it," Hidan whispers against his partner's back. "That was my vision." 

Kakuzu's breathing is deep and even, but he's not asleep. Hidan can feel the tension introduced by having someone, anyone, so snug against his back, when he's vulnerable. Hidan flexes his new fingers and rakes them lightly along his partner's chest. In the darkness he has to read Kakuzu's body like a map, follow the trails of the stitches he knows by heart.

Kakuzu maybe can feel Hidan's heart, beating against his back. Ticking like the oldest clock of all, but not counting down. No countdowns for him until the job's done: the purification of the world.

"And only the faithful will survive," he laughs against Kakuzu's back, and the falls-nin shudders with irritation.

"Someday this is all going to bite you," Kakuzu says. "All the bad luck you're building up is collecting interest, and it's going to come down and shit all over us both. Don't expect me to help you out either."

"Jashin will protect us," Hidan murmurs. "Or, well, he'll protect me at least. You've got some shaping up to do first. Maybe if I made extra sacrifice…" He thinks.

"Oh, I won't blame your god. If we both die I'm sure it will be because of some stupid mistake I can attribute entirely to you."

"Well, maybe," Hidan says back, and slides the new hand around, to feel Kakuzu's heartbeat.

1/23/08.

_A gift for a friend. The characters are not mine, the story is not for profit._


End file.
